


eve, at the gates of paradise

by AvaRosier



Series: Jonsa Kink Week 2k18 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: Alayne Stone runs into Jon Snow in one of the many dirty alleys of a dark and crime-ridden King's Landing.Being Sansa Stark again, even for a single night, ends up being more difficult than she anticipates.





	eve, at the gates of paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Angsty smut with pseudo-adultery, depending on how you look at it. Jon and Sansa are the modern Westerosi equivalent of FBI agents who have been broken apart by the demands of their undercover missions. I was looking back through some old fics that I had nixed and decided to resurrect this one with extensive changes.
> 
> Jonsa Kink Week Day 2: Adultery

_I found a martyr_  
_He told me that I'd never_  
_With his educated eyes_  
_And his head between my thighs_

 

Halsey, " _Coming Down_ "

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa sweeps the plastic-covered clothes hangers over her shoulder as she exits the dry-cleaners, stepping onto wet pavement lit by the flashing neon lights of a nearby YiTish diner. She would just bend the damn thing over her arm, but if the suit came back wrinkled Harry would complain and she _is_ supposed to be acting like a woman who wants to be the future Mrs. Hardyng. It's dark at barely six and no matter that she had grown up in the North where days ran short and winters long- here in King's Landing, she feels like she goes weeks without seeing the sun.    


Casting a surreptitious glance in the reflection of windows as she passes them by, Sansa notes the dark figure that still trails her even after four blocks. She's not stupid enough to lead him back to her apartment- Alayne's apartment- nor is she stupid enough to go running to the cops.  Petyr has too many of them under his secret employ, plus plenty choose to supplement their meager pay by helping out a criminal overlord here or there. No, she could not rely on the law for help, not in this city.   


She turns into a deserted side-street near a corner store. She doesn't have to wait long, dry cleaning and purse tossed against a wall, before a hand is gripping her arm tightly and twisting her around. Sansa would have elbowed the man in the face or driven her stiletto heel into his foot, had she not caught a glimpse of his face.   


"Jon?"

 

* * *

 

  
  
He looms over her, tongue plumbing deeply as he kisses her: as intense and focused as always, but rougher now. Then he sits back on his heels, jeans barely over his hips and his cock jutting boldly out. She had only meant to talk to him, but the thickness of the tension between them reminded her of all the things she missed.  "This is wrong," she tells him, pressing the sole and stiletto of her heel into his chest. She's barely undressed, too, skirt hopelessly rumpled around her waist, blouse and bra gone but not ripped to pieces like her poor panties.

"I know," Jon says simply. He moves closer and the soft denim covering his thighs brushes against her ass. She _could_ dig her stiletto into his chest, like a spear through his heart, and make him stop. But she doesn't, because she is weak. And so Jon lines himself up and slides into her in a single, smooth thrust that has her gasping. How is it that this cock is not like other cocks? Or maybe it's that the man can get her pussy excited like few other men ever could.

This is wrong and she's putting her mission in danger, but Sansa's body is sparking along her nerve endings, vibrating against the softness of his bedsheets as she brings both ankles to bracket Jon's head. The act makes her tighten around him until she can feel the delicious push and pull of every stroke. He fucks her slow and steadily, knowing damn well this position takes her on an intense, torturous climb. His hands are soft, but the pads of several fingers just callused enough that she can feel them through the thin nylon of her thigh-highs. Jon has always loved her legs.

They're high enough in the condominium that the moon shines through Jon's bare, tall windows.  Here, she is Sansa Stark again; here, with Jon, at least this little light gets in.   


A strong thrust, hard enough to make her breasts wobble, brings her back to the man before her.  "Stop it." His frustration bleeds through in the rumble of his voice.    


"Stop what?" Sansa is just obstinate enough to play dumb.   


In a flash, her legs are pushed apart to accommodate Jon's torso, spreading her wide open and allowing him to slide in even deeper. _Gods!_   Sansa hisses at the direct stimulation. Her clit liked that a little bit too much and her hips jerk in his hold. His eyes are just as dark as she remembers, but had they always had that hard look in them, and she'd just been too naive to see it?    
  
"Stop with this passive crap. Stop hiding!" He tugs sharply on her hair, which had been cut to her shoulders in a sleek brown bob that's supposed to transform her into the kind of serious career woman that wouldn't make Harry's friends so much as blink. Sansa shudders at the pinpricks of pain and pleasure in her scalp, her lips pressed tightly together to hold back the animal noise she wants to let out.   


If Petyr finds out and suspects she's a double agent, if Oberyn finds out she jeopardized the case like this...but she wants him anyways. Her traitorous soul, the debauched desires of her body.    


"Then fuck me."   


Her challenge gets her dragged off the bed and lifted up against the nearest wall. She may be taller than him but Jon has no trouble lifting her until she wraps her legs around his hips. He grips the meat of her buttock and thrusts up into her, gasping all the while. Sansa watches the expressions flit across his face- he's buried to the hilt inside her and every thrust comes with a hard grind that has moans flying out of her mouth as she tries to rotate her hips along with the ride. It's been so long since she's been fucked this good, and Sansa finds herself ducking her head down so she can dig her teeth into the skin stretched taut over his shoulder.   


Fingers fly into her hair again and grip hard, pulling her head back. Jon is right there and their eyes meet. His pace slows.   


"Is this what you want? Isn't this what you came here for?" She sees the way his eyes drop and a hollow feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. The truth is right there, lying between them like a gauntlet, waiting for her to be brave enough to pick it up and confront it.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Sometimes, when she contemplates what their lives might have been like if neither of them had accepted those undercover assignments, Sansa thinks her and Jon would have been lovely together. Sweet and happy.   


She wants to say it was his fault for taking that undercover assignment first. How do you go back when the person you love is pretending to love another, to fuck her as she calls him a different name?    


But Sansa had vowed to do her duty to her country, as well, and she had always been good at pretending.    
  


* * *

 

 

"Come on. Do it!"

Jon doesn't answer her, but he does meet her damning stare with flared nostrils and a rebellious glint in his eyes, grinding his pelvis against hers. Forcing her to let go of her anger, her shame, as the heavy, low pleasure begins to build again between her thighs.   


She closes her eyes and rotates her hips sharply in counterpoint to his, taking that small, warm spark, and helping turn it into a conflagration. He doesn't stop her this time, when she bites back down on his shoulder, clenching her lower muscles around the drive of his cock.   


Her body goes limp as a river when her orgasm runs through it.

 

* * *

  
  
This is a mistake, Sansa knows this. She reminds herself of this as she stands on Jon's balcony, eyes flitting sightlessly over the city below. Rhaenys's hill rises gently and at the base, she can see the subtropical trees that line Avenue of the Sisters. She wishes she had a cigarette; it would certainly add the right patina to this scene. The headlights of hundreds of cars move in orderly lines and there's the nearly imperceptible, shadowy motion of thousands of human being seeking some form of salvation in the bars and clubs of Flea Bottom. Sex. Alcohol. Cocaine. Maybe even down the barrel of a gun.   


Jon's asleep in the bed and she's left with the raw reminders of where his beard had been: her neck, her breasts, and between her thighs. Making sure she couldn't forget him right away. 

  
_ "What will he say, that clean-shaven fool of yours, when he sees that someone else's mouth has been on your cunt?" _   


_"Nothing, because he never thinks to eat me out."_   


 

* * *

 

 

"Should I even bother to ask, if I know you're just going to lie to me, Sansa?" It's been over a year since she'd last seen him, storming out of Oberyn's office after he found out she was going undercover. He has a beard again and even in the cracked, dim light of the alleyway, he looks at her like he still loves her, that bastard.   
  
"What do you mean?" She lies with every breath, he's going to have to be a bit more specific than that.   
  
"Don't you think I keep my ear to the ground here? Ramsay Bolton and his three henchmen were found locked in one of their dogfighting cages, bodies ripped apart by their pets. Oberyn didn't say anything but I knew." Jon runs a hand sharply through his hair, mussing up the curls. He...he looks heartbroken. For a second there, Sansa had almost forgotten...   
  
Before, she had been, well, not innocent, exactly. But she'd been happier, more hopeful. She hadn't known what it felt like to know exactly what a monster had done and stand there as she murders him because who else would stop him? She had never wanted to be this person. But it seems to be the only way she could find justice in this world. What a choice: justice, or peace.    
  
"You did this to me." Her voice breaks as she makes the accusation, pride be damned. Sansa has always been good at pretending, and she has always been good at making her memories go blurry around the edges until she could paint something a little different over it.   
  
Jon's blank expression looks like it's been etched in stone.  "No, I didn't."   
  
He steps back, until their bodies are no longer touching and the coldness of the alley seeps in between them.  In the chasm sits all their history and it sits quietly, starkly. There are no more lies between them, no more artifice. Sansa faces Jon, and Jon faces Sansa, both fully aware of who the other truly is.

 

* * *

  
  
  
He awakes when she closes the balcony doors behind her. Good, she swung it hard enough to. Sansa watches him rub the sleep out of his eyes and focus on her as she stalks towards the bare mattress. Does she look cold? She feels cold.   
  
"Sansa?" Jon's voice is rough and scratchy and that she finds it the tiniest bit endearing makes her rage simmer all the brighter. Pulling his shirt off her in a single, clean motion, she deposits it carelessly onto the floor and begins to crawl up over his body. He simply lies there, waiting, but Sansa can see the shorter, panting breaths coming through his open mouth, the start of excitement now that he's beginning to figure out her game. 

"Keep your hands there," she instructs him, lying his hands palm up on either side of his head. He obeys. Then she swings her knees onto each palm, immobilizing him. His breath is hot on her thighs and his eyes are bright and wide open in anticipation. She holds his gaze and lowers herself until she's drifting over his lips. Jon wastes no time, licking up in between her labia, getting her wet again. Eagerly. Watching him, Sansa finds his half-lidded stare gratifying.

There it is again- that sense of power, of control. It's an illusion, but she's so hungry for it, she'll do nearly anything. She rocks her hips back and forth, making sure Jon's tongue scrapes over her clit. If given the leeway, she knows he'd tease her excessively. Sansa drops more of her weight down on his face, grinding into that hungry mouth, the rough bristles, and fucks him in earnest. His grip on her legs is nearing painful.

She squeezes her thighs tighter around his head.

 

Sansa may not be able to remember what the sun felt like on her face, but when she comes all over Jon's mouth, she thinks it must have felt like this. Like flying into paradise.

 


End file.
